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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28899945">coup de grâce</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyquills/pseuds/greyquills'>greyquills</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Lightsaber Battles (Star Wars), Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Order 66 (Star Wars), Seduction to the Dark Side, The Force, They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), lightsaber color theory, star wars au pog, tommy is the chosen one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:13:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28899945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyquills/pseuds/greyquills</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>There’s only one explanation for this. Tommy knows, deep in his gut, what’s going on here. He knows why Wilbur is kneeling on the dirty durasteel floor, why Dream is looking at him like he wants to eat Will raw, and he <i>aches</i> to leap up and stop this in its tracks. The Force sings in anticipation, dark tendrils lapping at Tommy's shields.</p>
  <p>“Teach me the ways of the Dark Side,” Wilbur breathes, staring up at Dream. <i>“Master.”</i></p>
</blockquote>Alternatively: Tommy's the only one close enough to watch Wilbur spiral down into the Dark. Sometimes, he wishes he'd been shrewd enough to stop it.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Background Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>167</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. episode i</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>wilbur turning to the dark side pog?</p><p>there is no excuse for this monster of an au. none whatsoever. i opened a blank doc, started typing, and blinked to see a whole lot of words of incredibly self-indulgent chosen one tommyinnit. this one has been living in wip hell for the past three months, so i'm glad to finally start getting it out of my system smh. </p><p>also!! i was inspired to write my own take on a mcyt star wars au after reading zairielon's <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26696746/">"Inferno in the Sky,"</a> which is an incredible and incredibly LONG dnf star wars au that blows everything else on this website out of the park. please go check it out :))</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The beginning.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*eyes other unfinished works* i plan to upload this in three parts over the next week or so. most of this au is already written and just needs editing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is a Darkness in the Jedi Temple, and it wraps itself around Tommy's chest and <em> squeezes, </em>so tight until he can hardly breathe. It lurks in the deepest corners of his mind, taunting him with visions of explosives, of a familiar man with a Cheshire grin, of red and blue lightsabers coming together in a deadly dance. Teasing him with prophetic visions, with loose tendrils, with snapping jaws. With things unseen, but still yet to come.</p><p>Perhaps the ending shouldn't surprise him.</p><p>But there's still a story to tell, and this particular story starts like this: a ten-year-old kid and his Master.</p><p>Tommy, swamped in robes that are clearly too big for him, glares up at one of the most impressive Jedi Knights of the last decade. Everything is too <em> loud </em>—there are too many people around him in the Great Hall, too much noise, too many Force signatures. Tommy feels like he's drowning, thrashing, caught up in a wave too tall for him to swim through.</p><p>Then the man crouches so that they're the same height, meeting Tommy's gaze evenly; a rock in the raging sea. He catches Tommy's fist in his own when the younger boy tries to punch him, and says, "So you're the kid that no one wants, huh?"</p><p>The words should hurt. They should cut into Tommy mercilessly. It’s fact versus fiction: the truth always hurts more, especially when it's twisted into a barb, a joke.</p><p>Fact: No one wants Tommy. No Jedi Masters, no Jedi Knights—not even the Healers.</p><p>Fact: This is his last chance at becoming a Padawan before the crèchemaster grows bored of him and finally ships him off to the AgriCorps.</p><p>But funnily enough, the words don't hurt. Instead, the noise fades away to a dull hum, and Tommy feels something inside him unfurl—a sunflower unfolding, turning towards the sun. Craving warmth. The Force <em> sings </em> , warm and satisfied, a constant voice in his ear. Something he's always been far too connected with. <em> thisishimthisishimthisishim. </em></p><p>
  <em> yourmaster. </em>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>brother.</em> </b>
</p><p>And that—that's new. <em> Brother? </em> Tommy narrows his eyes at the man, ignores the way his heart leaps, and chooses his next words carefully. "My <em> name </em> is Tommy."</p><p>"Tommy," the man says, as if he's trying the name out on his tongue. Tommy likes the way the man's voice rolls over the vowels, smooth and elegant, like he wants to take his time and savor every sound. "Tommy, my name is Wilbur."</p><p>The name produces a bright flash of memory: Master Wilbur Soot. One of the youngest Padawans to be Knighted in over fifty years. He'd passed his Trials with flying colors, supported staunchly by his own Master—the Grandmaster of the Jedi Council, a man named Philza. Tommy's best friend, Tubbo, likes to gush about Wilbur with wide eyes and words filled with awe.</p><p>Holy shit. Tubbo is going to lose it when he finds out about this.</p><p>"Wilbur," Tommy says now, trying the name out like he might try on a spare set of robes. It fits the man like a glove, from the floppy brown hair in his eyes to the worn boots covering his feet. "Wilbur. Will. Big W. Dubs."</p><p>He feels, rather than sees, Wilbur—shit, he should probably call him Master Soot—crack a grin. It's a bone-deep amusement that resonates through the Force. "Exactly. Tommy, how old are you?"</p><p>It's not the question he was expecting. "Ten," Tommy says, scowling at Wilbur and ignoring the fact that this man is going to be his <em> Master </em> —there's no other explanation. He <em> has </em> to be. The Force has willed it, spoken it into existence, and the Force gets what it wants. It buzzes in his ears, refusing to go ignored. "I'm ten years old." And then, almost as an afterthought: "But I'm not a child!"</p><p>"Of course not," Wilbur says absently. He looks like he's lost in thought, a hand pressed to his mouth as he studies Tommy. The younger boy feels like he's an insect being examined, pinned down to a page. "You're a bit old for the crèche, aren't you? Why haven't you been taken as a Padawan yet? Is something wrong with your Force connection?"</p><p>Fact: Master Wilbur Soot has absolutely no tact whatsoever.</p><p>The Force huffs at Wilbur's questions, almost incredulous, like <em> can you believe this guy? </em>Tommy listens carefully to the roiling warmth that surrounds him, and a grin spreads on his face when he comes to a conclusion. The Force has a wickedly sharp sense of humor.</p><p>"The Force thinks you're a bitch," he informs the man matter-of-factly. Wilbur's bark of laughter echoes around the Great Hall, catching the attention of a few other Jedi. He doesn't seem to care, though. The gazes of the other Jedi roll off him like water off a duck's back.</p><p>Through his laughter, Wilbur manages, "Sure you aren't just projecting?"</p><p>"If <em> I </em>thought you were a bitch," Tommy informs him, rather primly, "I would tell you to your face."</p><p>"Thank you," Wilbur says, still grinning like a maniac, and Tommy can't resist.</p><p>"You're a bitch."</p><p>Wilbur's next cackle is sudden, surprised, and even louder this time, a sound that lights up the Force like a bolt of lightning through a storm cloud. He throws his head back and <em> laughs </em> with all the force of a raging sea, and Tommy decides, from that moment on, that he <em> likes </em>Wilbur.</p><p>The Force, with an unfamiliar note of urgency, agrees.</p><p>So when Wilbur, trailing the younger boy into the canteen, asks Tommy if he'd like to train underneath him—if he'd like to be Wilbur's Padawan—Tommy nods his head. It was never his choice in the first place. The Force guides him forward, sighs in relief, calls Wilbur <strong><em> brotherbrotherbrother </em></strong>until it's all Tommy can hear.</p><p>So he agrees to Will's terms and conditions. He makes sure to curse Wilbur out first, though.</p><p>Just to set a precedent.</p><hr/><p>Their partnership—Tommy's apprenticeship—progresses slowly from that point on. It’s… different. They’re different, too, from other Master-Padawan pairs.</p><p>For one thing, Tommy knows <em> he's </em> different. Tommy has known he's different since he was a youngling in the creche, an outcast among his peers. He's always been the odd one out, because he doesn't just sense things: he can <em> hear </em>the Force like a voice in his ear. It guides him, whispers to him, lulls him to sleep at night, wakes him up in the morning. There's not a second that goes by without the Force curling itself around him protectively.</p><p>Wilbur seems to realize this, even if he doesn't quite understand it. When he pulls Tommy down into a sitting position for one of their daily meditation sessions (which Tommy hates on principle—he doesn't get how <em> sitting down and doing jack shit </em>is going to help him be a better Jedi), Wilbur also reaches out with the Force. Their signatures curl around each other like a pair of cats, and the newly-formed Force bond pulses with energy.</p><p>Tommy shivers. It's not <em> bad, </em>not exactly—just new. Besides, it's not even an unpleasant feeling—having someone to lean on refines his focus. He manages to sit through an extra hour of meditation that day without squirming. Wilbur doesn't even have to chastise him for getting distracted.</p><p>Neither of them say anything about this new connection. They don't bring up Tommy's extreme Force-sensitivity. Years pass, until an older Tommy looks back at that morning and wishes, in hindsight, that he had brought it up. That he had said something, <em> anything, </em>to delay the Fall.</p><p>This is the morning when it starts.</p><p>It's not technically his fault. He's far too busy being a reckless kid to notice shit. Being Wilbur's Padawan is like nothing else in the Galaxy. The thrill of it—a mixture of unbridled joy, grinning satisfaction, wearied exhaustion after a sparring session—hums through Tommy's veins on a daily basis. As days turn into months turn into years, Tommy grows taller, refines his skills, banters back and forth with Wilbur like he's reading off a script. Laughter fills their quarters more often than not.</p><p>Even Tubbo starts to spend more time with Tommy and Wilbur, forsaking the grim quarters he shares with his Master—an intimidating Jedi with curled ram horns who goes by the name <em> Schlatt—</em>in favor of open windows and fresh fruit. Oranges and lemons start to pop up around their rooms; behind the stove, in the 'fresher, and even in Tommy's bed.</p><p>The Force's first impression was right: Wilbur is like a brother to Tommy. And if they’re brothers, Tommy figures it wouldn’t be the worst thing to make his mission to be the biggest pain in the ass possible.</p><p>
  <em> Challenge accepted, Force.</em>
</p><hr/><p>Time passes. Tommy grows slightly taller, and Wilbur teases him for it, and they settle into something comfortable—something almost like friendship.</p><hr/><p>There is a Darkness in the Temple. It tastes stagnant on Tommy's tongue, like a still pool of water. Its tendrils curl around him, around Wilbur, around his friends and enemies alike. Around all of them, except for <em> Tubbo </em>.</p><p>He has no idea why Tubbo is seemingly immune to the Darkness' influence. Tubbo sticks out like a sore thumb, a glowing light in the Dark, bright and warm and grinning so wide that Tommy thinks his friend might burst. He's like a gorgeously languid ray of sunshine, bathing Tommy in warmth. Even when Tommy's having one of his bad days, shaking from a particularly bad nightmare or prophetic dream, Tubbo knows exactly what to say in order to calm him down.</p><p>They're an odd pair—both blond (though Tubbo's hair is dyed; he made Tommy swear to keep it a secret when the other boy had found out), lanky boys with too-big hearts and a particular affinity for starting fights. While Tommy's lightsaber is blue, the color of a Guardian and a warrior, Tubbo's shines a vibrant green. Green indicates a <em> Consular—</em>a Jedi who focuses on the Force and its mysteries, who fights the Dark Side at its heart. </p><p>Tommy doesn't even mind the fact that their sabers are different colors. The physical side of the Force has always been easier for him—he'd rather be the one beating shit up with his lightsaber, so to speak. Meditation and study are overwhelmingly difficult and boring for him, much to Wilbur's constant consternation. Tubbo is his complement, keeping Tommy in check with muttered comments and pointed looks.</p><p>So they end up spending far more time together than they probably should. Master Schlatt doesn't seem to mind; Tubbo tells Tommy that the older man is often lost in thought these days, drawing the shadows of their shared rooms around him like a cloak. Quackity—a Jedi Knight who has a close connection to Schlatt—and Tubbo are the only ones who can seem to break through the haze of thoughts surrounding Schlatt on a good day.</p><p>"He's like my dad," Tubbo confesses one night when they're out in the gardens, staring up at the stars and the constant Coruscanti traffic in the skylanes above them. The moment hangs between them, almost like Tommy is dreaming, and Tubbo's voice sounds small in the great open space. "Is that weird?"</p><p>Tommy thinks about it for a second. "No," he says, finally. "I dunno. I don't think so."</p><p>Relief colors Tubbo's voice when he says, "I just—I'm worried about him. I don't think he's doing well."</p><p>Tommy hums. "Well, you're his Padawan. If anyone can take proper care of Schlatt, it's you," he tells his friend fervently, and he finds that he believes every word.</p><p>Tubbo flushes, face bright red beneath the dark sky, and he murmurs, "Not true."</p><p>"It is as well!" Tommy exclaims in mock offense.</p><p>"Nuh-uh," Tubbo says, and then he's laughing too hard to say anything else when Tommy rugby-tackles him from the side. They grapple for a little while on the damp grass, still howling with laughter, and Tommy gasps for breath when Tubbo manages to pin him and push his face into the dirt beneath them.</p><p>The Force curls around its two sons in the Temple gardens that night, protective and content. <b> <em>clingyinnit</em> </b> <em> , </em>it mutters in Tommy's ear, grinning.</p><p><em> Shut up, </em>he thinks vehemently with no room for argument, and the Force reluctantly obliges.</p><p>That's the other thing about growing up and refining his skills in the Jedi Temple—the Force is louder in Tommy's ear, a constant companion. It gets harder and harder to ignore until he's finally forced to listen to its warnings. It all comes to a head at the age of thirteen, when Tommy watches his Grandmaster board the ramp of a ship with growing trepidation in his gut.</p><p>Logically, he knows that Master Philza is going to be fine—the older man has gone on dozens of undercover missions before. Phil knows how this works; he wraps an arm around Wilbur's shoulders and squeezes briefly, grins and waves at Tommy, shouts his goodbyes across the hangar bay before he retreats into the ship.</p><p>That doesn't stop the Force from protesting Phil's departure as loudly as it can. <em>Stop</em> <em>Philza, </em>it says, almost anxious. <em>Protect</em>. <em>Protectza</em>. <em>Danger. DangerDangerDanger</em><b><em>Danger. </em></b></p><p>Tommy ignores the voices as he watches the ship's engines roar to life. He ignores them as he watches the retreating figure of the Jedi starfighter disappear into Coruscant's sky, painted in the light of the sunset. He ignores the curling feeling in his gut that <em> something </em>isn't right, that Phil is in danger.</p><p>The voices scream their protest. He ignores them.</p><p>He stops ignoring them when Phil misses his first rendezvous.</p><p>A week turns into a month turns into a year. The Force curls with anguish, <em> i-told-you-so, </em> when Philza's Council seat, left empty out of dwindling hope, is finally filled. Phil's file in the Archives is updated, marked <em> missing in action </em> <b>, </b>and Tommy wants to curl into a ball and weep every time he thinks about his Master's Master.</p><p>He's sure Wilbur feels the same way, but his Master is strangely blank after he hears the news. </p><p>To put it simply, Wilbur shuts down. After the missive is delivered, he only nods, eyes glassy, then locks himself in his room for a week straight. When Tommy tries the door handle and finds it locked for the third day in a row, his stomach turns with anxiety. Wilbur isn’t like this, not normally—he’s the sort to yell, to scream, to let his emotions out like words on a page. </p><p>So Tommy pounds on the door in protest, calls out for Will, leaves food in front of his room, but there's still no response. Wilbur is dead to the world for seven days, most likely asleep or stuck in a terrible cycle of grief.</p><p>Finally, after he emerges from his prison cell without even a glance in Tommy’s direction, he throws them headlong into work, arranging mission after mission until Tommy thinks he's sick of seeing the blue lines of hyperspace. They hop across the Galaxy and back again, dealing with smuggling rings, drug cartels, corrupt governments, and bratty ambassadors alike. It's six months of no Tubbo and no Temple—Tommy has nothing to rely on except Wilbur.</p><p>There is a Darkness in the Temple, and Tommy embraces the escape when it comes.</p><p>Spending all this time with Will is strangely cathartic. Tommy feels himself growing closer to his Master, even as he wrestles with incredible guilt over Philza's disappearance. What would Wilbur say if Tommy told him? If he knew that Tommy could have stopped this, could have saved Phil?</p><p>No matter how long he wrestles with the question, Tommy always comes back around to one answer:<em> nothing good. </em></p><p>So Tommy doesn't tell him. He lets Wilbur drag him from the Outer Rim to the Mid-Rim and back again, never to the Core, hoping that he'll make up for his mistake through training and experience. If Will notices a difference in Tommy's attitude, he doesn't say anything; he just softens his words and corrects Tommy's saber form with a gentler hand. Phil's disappearance has changed Wilbur, as well—Tommy's Master is quieter, more resigned, as if he's thinking hard but he doesn't want to share his thoughts.</p><p>Like most good things these days, it doesn’t last.</p><p>They're called back to the Temple eventually for a mission at home, after nearly a year of chasing down bad guys across the Galaxy. Tommy finds himself choking on his anxiety—what if Tubbo doesn't recognize him? What if Tubbo <em> hates </em>him, for leaving so suddenly without an excuse?</p><p>His fears turn out to be unfounded. The minute that their boarding ramp touches down, Tommy's out of his seat and halfway down the ramp, eyes scanning across the hangar bay. He spots Tubbo almost immediately—the other boy is bouncing on the balls of his feet, nervous energy written into every line of his body. Tubbo's hair is growing out, longer than he usually likes, and the roots are a deep brown color.</p><p>It looks good on him, Tommy thinks mildly. He looks older. More serious. </p><p>But when he spots Tommy, Tubbo's face breaks out into a familiar contagious grin, and he yells, "Tommy!" as he sprints across the hangar bay. Tommy starts running, too, and he flings his arms around his best friend as Tubbo embraces him roughly. He's grown a few inches—they both have—and they're practically the same height now. It's unfair, Tommy thinks idly.</p><p>"How've you been, Big Man?" Tubbo asks when they finally pull apart, like nothing has changed, and Tommy resists the urge to burst into tears.</p><p>It’s clear that the Council pities Tommy and Wilbur—the remnants of that pity had been the only reason they were allowed to stay away from the Temple for so long. Wilbur’s grief over Philza’s disappearance was deep and raw, like a shrapnel wound, and it needed to heal slowly. Now, though, the Jedi Council believes that Tommy and Wilbur are finished with their grief and are ready to go back to work.</p><p>And so here they are: assigned to a Senator's protective detail. When Wilbur sees the fateful memo, he groans, running his hands through his overly-long hair as he leans back from the datapad.</p><p>"What's the matter?" Tommy asks, ducking in close to read the missive. Will sighs, but doesn't move away—he'd learned long ago that trying to keep sensitive information away from Tommy is futile. "What're you—oh. Oh, <em> shit." </em></p><p>"Yeah," Wilbur says, almost miserably. "Oh, shit."</p><p>It turns out that Senator GeorgeNotFound's new Jedi protective detail—consisting of Wilbur, Tubbo, Master Schlatt, and himself—had been assigned by <em> Dream, </em>the mysterious Councilor who Tommy likes to antagonize in his free time. This assignment is probably payback for Tommy's bullshit.</p><p>But it doesn't mean that Tommy can't take advantage of the situation. If there's one thing that he enjoys more than pissing Dream off, it’s taking a Senator down a peg.</p><p>Even if he hates the fact that they’re in this situation in the first place, it’s useless to protest. Everything these days is all because of fucking politics. The Senate is having some stupid festival to celebrate diplomacy, or something equally as distasteful. Apparently, there’s a price out on George’s head, and Dream wants to make sure his precious little Senator is safe and sound during the event.</p><p>“No funny business, Tommy,” Dream tells the Padawan when him and Wilbur are called to the Council for their briefing. The Council Chamber’s ceiling arcs above them, and bright light filters through the windows, illuminating the golden hue of Dream’s hair and catching on the edges of the ceramic mask that hides his face. All of them in this room have seen Dream's face at least once before, though, so Tommy has no idea why the older Jedi insists on hiding it.</p><p>The mask would be intimidating if Tommy gave a shit about what Dream thought of him. He doesn’t, so he gives Dream a mock-salute that means nothing. “Sure, Big D.”</p><p>“Please,” says Dream, long-suffering, “refrain from calling me that.”</p><p>Tommy lets his lips curl up into a smirk before Tubbo grabs his arm and pulls him away. “Gotta go, Big D!” he yells over his shoulder as they tumble through the Council Chamber’s doors. “You know the drill! Bitches to get, festivals to attend, Georges to save!”</p><p>Dream rolls his eyes and flips Tommy off as they disappear into the turbolift.</p><p>GeorgeNotFound, Tommy quickly discovers, is just as much of a wet blanket as Dream is. "Gogy," he crows when he meets the Senator again, relishing in the way George furrows his brow in consternation, "too bad, motherfucker, you're stuck with us now!"</p><p>The Senator looks like he wants to run himself through with Tommy's own lightsaber. He glances between Tubbo and Tommy, frowning—their Masters are off somewhere else. Probably being briefed by the Senate blues, now that Tommy thinks of it. "Are the Jedi really putting my safety in the hands of <em> children?" </em>George asks, and he actually has the gall to sound offended. </p><p>Tommy squawks in protest, gearing himself up to complain. The familiar argument wins a smile from Tubbo, small and secretive. "I—we are <em> not </em>children!" Tommy exclaims.</p><p>"Yeah!" Tubbo adds in support, crossing his arms over his chest. Thankfully, they both tower over the Senator they're protecting without even trying, which seems to help their argument—George scowls up at the two Padawans vindictively. "We're adults. We have <em> lightsabers." </em></p><p>"Exactly!" Tommy says, feeling a grin split his face. George looks like someone's spit in his caf. "So watch it, Gogy—"</p><p>"I <em> told you </em>not to call me that!" George complains melodramatically, raising his voice to be heard over Tommy's constant monologue.</p><p>"—before I start stabbin' shit." Tommy presses a finger into the Senator's chest, miming a deadly weapon. "Because I'll stab you first, don’t think I won’t."</p><p>"Thanks," George says dryly.</p><p>Tubbo tugs at his friend's arm, voice raised with anxiety. "Tommy. Tommy. Not that I’m not in favor of violence, but I think there's a small flaw in your plan. Aren't we supposed to be <em> protecting </em>the Senator?”</p><p>Tommy opens his mouth to shoot something scathing back at his friend, but another voice cuts across the top of him. He grimaces as Wilbur storms over to their little group, looking furious. His boots echo ominously on the ballroom floor, and Tommy has to resist the urge to shrink at the look Will gives him. “TommyInnit, what the <em> hell </em>have you gotten yourself into this time?”</p><p>He gives his Master an innocent smile that’s far too full of teeth to be believable. “I’m not doing shit.”</p><p>“He’s threatening the Senator,” drawls Schlatt as he reaches them, following Wilbur in long, lazy strides. Schlatt sounds like he’s extremely bored of this festival already, and he holds out his fist to Tommy—presumably for a fist bump. Tommy obliges. “Nice one, kid.”</p><p>“Thanks, Schlatt!”</p><p>Wilbur sighs, pressing a hand to his temple. “Not that George isn’t terribly fucking annoying—”</p><p>“Hey!” George complains, scowling.</p><p>“—but you are an <em> awful </em>influence on my Padawan, Schlatt.”</p><p>“Thanks, Will,” Schlatt says brightly. He sounds genuinely appreciative.</p><p>Tommy snorts, pushing himself forward until he’s next to Wilbur. “Wilbur—Will, Big W, Big Man Wil-bah—”</p><p>“Call me any of that again,” his Master interrupts, tone mild despite the threat in his words, “and you and me are going to have problems.”</p><p>“Sounds like you two already have them,” George cuts in, still glowering fiercely at Tommy. He glares right back at the Senator. Fuck propriety or whatever. </p><p>But Tommy’s sure the Force gets a kick out of it when he coos, “Aw, is wittle Gogy upset? Does he need big, bad Dweam to come protect him?” because the ever-constant connection inside of him lights up momentarily, like a firework. </p><p>George splutters loudly enough to be heard over Schlatt’s surprised bark of laughter. “How <em> dare </em>you imply—”</p><p>“George!”</p><p>Speak of the devil and all that. Tommy watches Dream saunter over to them, pleased, like a lothcat satisfied with its catch. He’s not wearing the stupid mask, for once—the scar that stretches across his face from eye to mouth is clearly visible, marring what would be an otherwise handsome face. </p><p>“Master Clay!” Tubbo exclaims, shooting his friend a look that says <em> you’re in for it now. </em>Dream’s face wrinkles in distaste at the use of his actual name—for some reason, he prefers his dumb alias—but the expression softens when his eyes land on George.</p><p>“I apologize for my Padawan’s behavior,” Wilbur tells George quickly, before the other man can complain to Dream and get them all kicked out of the Order. “He’s still learning.”</p><p>“Still learning, my ass,” Tommy mutters, but he lets it go. George still looks a little miffed, but Wilbur’s apology seems to smooth his ruffled feathers; he smiles at Dream, small and pleased, and Tommy is shocked to see Dream <em> blush.  </em></p><p>Well. Damn. Turns out Dream is actually capable of <em> emotion. </em>Who would have thought? </p><p>The festival throws itself into motion soon after in a blur of color, food, and commotion that makes Tommy’s head spin. He does his best to trail George through the massive ballroom at a distance, Tubbo at his side. Will and Schlatt are stationed on balconies far above them with a watchful eye.</p><p>Tommy’s faintly aware of the fact that if anything <em> does </em>happen to the Senator now, it’s his fault. But Tubbo is busy going off on one of his tangents about some exciting creature, and Tommy’s lightsaber is a heavy weight against his thigh, and there’s even a chocolate fountain on one of the tables. When he dips a piece of fruit into it, the chocolate gets on his fingers, and he licks it off while Tubbo laughs. Tommy doesn’t get distracted, not exactly; he glances away from George for two seconds, and when he looks back, the Senator is gone.</p><p>His blood turns to ice in his veins. “Tubbo,” he hisses, elbowing his friend. The other boy pauses in the middle of an explanation about mythical creatures on Dantooine, raising an eyebrow. “Tubbo, where the hell is George?!”</p><p>Bewildered, Tubbo scans the room. His entire body tenses when there’s no sight of the Senator. “Uh—I thought you were watching him!”</p><p>“I was!” Tommy defends hotly. He pulls his commlink from his robes, grimacing as he does so. This is going to suck. “Wilbur, are you there? Dubs?”</p><p>There’s a hiss of static, and then, <em> “Yeah?” </em></p><p>“Where did George go?”</p><p>A beat passes before Tommy hears a groan from down the line. <em> “You were supposed to be </em> watching <em> him,” </em>Wilbur grinds out. </p><p>“So were you!”</p><p><em> “Yeah, but you’re on the ground </em> , <em> you fucking gremlin—stars above, Tommy.” </em> Will’s words come fast, panicked, and there’s a rustle of fabric and a quick, <em> “Schlatt!” </em></p><p>Tommy grimaces as he hears their argument from down the comms, just harried enough to be inaudible through the small speaker. When he glances up at the balcony, Wilbur has Schlatt’s arm in a vise-like grip and appears to be pulling the other man down a set of spiraling stairs that lead down to the ballroom.</p><p>When Tommy closes his eyes, the Force hums with adrenaline. There’s nothing dangerous about the feeling, not exactly; the masses of people around them prevent Tommy from feeling anything more than muted panic. Try as he might to pinpoint it, George’s Force signature is lost in the murky waters of the festival. Which wouldn’t be a huge deal, except that there’s currently an assassin trying to end George’s life.</p><p>Well. You win some, you lose some.</p><p>“How’d you get down so fast?” Tubbo asks Will and Schlatt idly as their group reconvenes.</p><p>“Long legs,” Wilbur says. He adds, with no tact whatsoever, “How the fuck did you lose a goddamn Senator?”</p><p>“Not so <em> loud </em>,” hisses Tommy when several nearby diplomats send scornful glances their way. He bristles. “Besides, we didn’t lose him. He wandered off on his own.”</p><p>“Same difference,” Schlatt drawls. He motions to his Padawan with a crook of his index finger. “C’mere, Tubbo, let’s go search the bathrooms.”</p><p>“Why would George be in the toilets?” Tubbo wonders aloud, even as he follows Schlatt; Tommy just about catches the older man’s reply before they’re swallowed by the crowd, a hiss of, “<em> well, maybe he had to piss, tubbo, ever thought about that?” </em>that makes Tommy grin.</p><p>Wilbur isn’t as amused. “I want you to search the kitchens,” he informs Tommy. The boy lets out a groan.</p><p>“What the fuck, Will? Why me?”</p><p>Wilbur cracks a grin. “You’re the one who lost him, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Why do you keep <em> saying </em>that, I told you, big man, he ran away!”</p><p>“Like it or not, you’re searching the kitchens. I’ll comm Dream—”</p><p>Tommy feels the blood drain from his face. “No! No, you <em> can’t </em> comm him.”</p><p>Will arches a careful eyebrow. “Can’t I?”</p><p>Fuck this. Clearly, he’s not above begging. “Please, Will, please don’t comm Dream. He’s going to <em> kill </em>me, K to the I to the L to the L.” He bites out each letter with an emphasis that makes Wilbur roll his eyes.</p><p>“Congratulations,” Will intones dryly, in a manner totally unlike his own, “you can spell a single syllable word.”</p><p>Tommy kicks him in the shin. “Fuck you, bitch,” he says without any heat in the words.</p><p>“I am your <em> Master, </em>Tommy. I swear to God, you’d better start showing me some goddamn respect—”</p><p>Tommy snorts. “Or what?”</p><p>“—or I’ll make you search the kitchens <em> and </em>the guest quarters, and I doubt you want that much responsibility.” </p><p>As much as Tommy hates this, Wilbur is right and he knows it. He huffs out a few curses under his breath, earning himself a sharp look from his Master, and hurries off to check the kitchens.</p><p>In the end, Dream's the one who finds George. After a quick scan of the kitchens—objectively, Tommy thinks, it's unfair that all he has to do is scan for George's Force signature—which yields no results, he hurries back to the ballroom. The corridors are filled with people from all sorts of worlds, from Coruscant to Ryloth to Naboo, all shapes and sizes and colors. The sharp smell of spices from the kitchens wafts after him, and Tommy ducks around a couple that are locked in a passionate embrace before he pokes his head back into the grand room.</p><p>He spots Wilbur immediately—his Master is flanked by two other Jedi, one on each side. A familiar white, ceramic mask and another head of brown hair stand beside Wilbur's own brown curls. There's a sudden tug at his shields, and Wilbur's head snaps up to meet Tommy's gaze. It pins him in place for a moment before Tommy shakes free of the strange paralysis and heads towards the small group, throat dry.</p><p>"Tommy," Will says, sounding relieved as Tommy tucks himself into his Master's side. The two Jedi Masters, whom he now recognizes as Dream and Eret, are tall and intimidating; he'd much rather curl into the familiar cadence of Wilbur's voice. "There you are. Why don't you tell Master Dream what happened?"</p><p>Tommy blinks. "With George?"</p><p>"Where did you last see him?" Dream demands, something dangerous underneath his tone. Tommy has to tilt his chin up to meet the older Jedi's gaze, since Dream is so freakishly tall. He's built like a wall, as well, Tommy thinks; those shoulders of his are wide and muscled, rippling underneath the cloak and tunic Dream prefers to wear. What with his mask and carefully styled blond hair, Tommy isn't surprised that Dream made it to the Council. The man is terrifying on a good day.</p><p>"Uh—the ballroom," Tommy manages to get out, grimacing at the unsurety that permeates the words. "One moment he was in the the crowd, and the next he wasn't."</p><p>Dream's expression hardens. "So you lost him?"</p><p>"I didn't lose him!" Tommy bites out. His tone is probably a little harsher than it should be, so he softens his next words to add, "I didn't lose him. He ran off on his own. Mans probably fell in the chocolate fountain or some shit."</p><p>Wilbur grimaces. Eret looks a little surprised at the informality of Tommy's words, but they say nothing. Dream, on the other hand, looks as though he might start stabbing shit.</p><p>"Tell me what your objective was, again?" Dream says. His lips curl into something almost like a smile, if there weren't ice behind it. </p><p>Tommy senses that he's made a mistake here. "Uh—protect the Senator?" he tries. "Make sure he doesn't die? Have fun doing it?"</p><p>"Does this seem like you're protecting George?" Dream bites out. "By losing him in a crowd of people?"</p><p>Tommy bares his teeth a little. "I guess?"</p><p>He's not prepared for what happens next: Dream tips his head back and groans, pulling his mask back so he can rub at his eyes with his fingers. "You," he grinds out, "are an <em>idiot."</em></p><p>Tommy frowns, a little hurt. "I'm <em>what?"</em></p><p>In response, Dream pulls his commlink from his pocket, checks the frequency, and holds it to his lips as he says, "George? You there?"</p><p>There's a rustle of static before an answer filters through the device. George's voice is tinged with surprise and not a small amount of fondness. <em>"Dream?"</em></p><p>Tommy wants to stab himself with his lightsaber. Wilbur's eyes go wide at the realization. <em>Maybe we should have tried to comm George before getting Dream involved, </em>Tommy mutters to his Master through their Force bond.</p><p>Wilbur sighs out loud. <em>I panicked, okay? You're the one who lost him.</em></p><p>Tommy resists the urge to splutter. <em>For the millionth time, I did not <strong>lose </strong>him, you motherfucker.</em></p><p>Dream levels them both with a look that pretty much screams <em>stop using your Force bond to have private conversations, i'm in the middle of something here, </em>so Tommy just rolls his eyes and cuts the connection.</p><p>He glances up to meet Tubbo's gaze as the other boy enters the ballroom at Schlatt's side. Apparently, their little group must look a sight, because Tubbo goes a bit white and has to be forcibly dragged over by his Master. Tommy raises an eyebrow at the other boy, who gives him a small, curt nod that says, <em>not here.</em></p><p>Dream is still talking to George over the commlink, who reassures the Jedi that he's fine, thank you very much. The Senator sounds miffed, if anything else. <em>"Seriously, Dream?"</em> he complains bitterly. <em>"I was in the middle of an important business negotiation."</em></p><p>"Maybe don't try to slip your guard next time, then," Dream answers easily. Some of the tension has left his shoulders, and Tommy thinks that his earlier observation was true: if Dream has any weak spots at all, one of them must be the Senator.</p><p><em>"I didn't slip the guard!"</em> George complains. <em>"They lost </em>me!"</p><p>Tommy makes eye contact with Tubbo across the room, makes a blaster shape out of his fingers, and holds the fake gun to his head. Tubbo nods solemnly in agreement, and the Force hums in exhausted consensus. Maybe they should have comm'd George first, before getting Dream involved, but in all honesty? Tommy probably wouldn't have enjoyed this half as much if they'd found the Senator right off the bat.</p><p><strong><em>Dreamnotfound</em>, </strong>the Force mutters quietly in amusement, almost to itself. Even if Tommy doesn't quite understand what that means, he's still aware of the darkness that runs underneath the word. Like Dream's very presence here as he converses quietly with George inspires something different—something like a vein of rock, cut open to reveal glistening obsidian. Tommy gets the sense that there's more to the man than meets the eye.</p><p>But that's quite honestly none of his business, so once everything is done and dusted and the festival is finished, he lets the Force guide him back to the Temple after his Master, ignoring the growing trepidation in his gut that matches the swirling tension all around him.</p><p>One thing is undoubtedly true: there is a Darkness among the Jedi, and it's coming for them soon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. episode ii</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Brothers, reunited.</p><p>or: Quackity and Schlatt are late, with disastrous consequences. Tommy and Wilbur get captured by the Separatists. Technoblade makes an appearance.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is a Darkness in the Temple, and it follows a sixteen-year-old Tommy halfway across the Galaxy for the sole purpose of <em>laughing </em>at him, deep rolling chuckles that make Tommy feel nauseous. Maybe that's just the sedative in his veins, the bump on his head. Everything is far too bright and blurry and his head aches fiercely.</p><p>"In hindsight," Wilbur says, sounding <em> far </em>too calm considering the Force-cuffs locked around his wrists, "maybe we should have waited for Quackity."</p><p>Tommy spares a pointed look at their restraints, then at the locked door, before he says dryly, "Do you really think so?"</p><p>"Tommy," Will warns, but Tommy is having absolutely none of it.</p><p>"No," he snaps, gearing up for an argument, "this was all <em> your </em>fault, Will! Don't try and pin this on Big Q!"</p><p>"I wasn't the one who suggested we go in guns blazing!" Wilbur's fury is a sight to behold—if Tommy's not careful, his Master will burn this whole place down with the flames of his ire. Wilbur's eyes flash like stoked embers as he glowers at his Padawan. "I advocated for stealth—"</p><p>Tommy snorts. "Yeah, 'cos pulling out your fucking <em> lightsaber </em> and slamming it into the control panel—"</p><p>Wilbur yelps, "I did <em> not </em>do that!"</p><p>"—is totally gonna pass unnoticed. Wilbur, you can't sneak around for shit—"</p><p>"You're the one who started calling the battle droids names!" Wilbur sounds incredulous, narrowing his eyes at Tommy through his fringe, which has grown too long again. Tommy eyes him carefully; Wilbur needs to get it cut. "You yelled <em>come here, bitch boy </em>at the top of your lungs! How does that not attract attention?!"</p><p>"—plus you have, like, the most recognizable lightsaber ever!" Tommy meets Will's gaze head-on, unflinching, as he moves into murky territory. "You couldn't be normal for once? Green or blue or some shit? It's literally orange!"</p><p>Wilbur sighs. If he could move his hands, he'd probably press his palm to his temple. Instead, he reclines against the cold, hard wall and says, "Fuck off. You know I didn't choose this. It’s not my fault that my saber is orange."</p><p>And, yeah, okay, Tommy <em> does </em>know that. But he also knows that Will relishes the attention and preferential treatment he gets because of his lightsaber color. His Master is clearly full of shit.</p><p>It's not that the orange saber doesn't help sometimes—usually on diplomatic missions when they have to whip out their lightsabers to impress some random ambassador—but it did <em> not </em> help today. Turns out that waving an orange lightsaber around in front of battle droids is a surefire way to get both spotted and captured by Separatists. At least Tommy can cross <em> being knocked out by a battle droid </em> off his bucket list.</p><p>The plan had been simple: wait for Quackity and Schlatt, break into the Separatist compound, steal sensitive information, get out. Preferably in that order and without being spotted. But now—<em>now, </em>Tommy thinks, without a hint of his usual humor, they're absolutely fucked. </p><p>It's probably his fault, too, though he'll never admit it out loud. He doesn't do well with waiting—Tommy tends to get nervous fast. He rambles, tugs at his collar anxiously. Silence is far too oppressive for him since he always feels the need to fill it. It sucks big time. If Big Q had been the <em> tiniest </em>bit quicker, they wouldn't be here right now.</p><p>"Orange doesn't even go with your color scheme," he says, once he’s been jerked out of thought.</p><p>Wilbur splutters. "I don't <em> have </em>a color scheme!"</p><p>"Yeah, you do, it's all brown and blue and shit," Tommy says, relishing in Will's outrage. "You've got your robes, and that dumb little hat—"</p><p>"Tommy, I will snap your spine in half like a glowstick," Wilbur says, sounding completely serious. Tommy shuts his mouth with an audible <em> click, </em> surprised by the silence that resounds in his ears.</p><p>It takes him a moment to realize they're not alone. There's a racket coming from the hallway outside their cell—the clamor of battle droids against durasteel, as well as a few muted <em> roger, rogers. </em> Tommy scrambles back against the wall clumsily as the door slides open and several droids march in with their weapons raised. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots two MagnaGuards waiting outside the cell, their electrostaffs vibrating wickedly in the damp air. <em> Checkmate. </em></p><p>"Hey," Tommy complains as the droids ignore him in favor of marching over to his Master, and then, <em> “Hey! </em>Fuck you! What do you think you're doing—"</p><p>"Let them be, Tommy," Wilbur says with a sigh. To Tommy's surprise, he doesn't resist when the droids pull him roughly to his feet, instead offering his wrists so that they can unchain him from the wall. He stumbles forward as Tommy watches, heart in his throat. "I'll speak to their leader and get us out of this mess—oi, watch it, you fucker," he snaps at the droid that has its blaster pressed against the small of Will's back.</p><p><em> Their leader. </em>The shadowy Count, identity unknown to the Republic, who has the entire Separatist Movement under his thrall. The puppeteer at the head of this outrageous façade. Tommy's stomach does a quick series of flips. "Will, please—"</p><p>"I’ll be fine. Just don't do anything stupid, Tommy," his Master orders over his shoulder as he's manhandled through the doorway. Tommy grimaces, watches the door slide shut between them with a <em> click. </em>Since when did Wilbur become the mature one?</p><p>Great. <em> Great. </em>Now he's well and truly alone, separated from his Master in enemy territory. Tommy feels like curling up into a ball and crying, but he can’t let himself break down. Instead, he levels a glare at the remaining droid, which has presumably left to prevent Tommy from staging an escape attempt. "What're you looking at, bitch boy?" he snaps at the droid in his usual fashion.</p><p>The droid cocks its head in confusion, but remains silent. Time passes slowly, stretching out between them. Tommy resigns himself to a staring contest with a semi-sentient piece of metal. It’s truly sad, the depths he’s fallen to. His eyes skirt around the cell, cataloging everything quickly: durasteel walls, chains around his wrists, door control at the droid’s left elbow—wait. </p><p><em> Wait. </em>A door control? Heart pounding, Tommy squints at the panel; it looks like a regular old control panel from this distance. </p><p>Wilbur <em> did </em> tell him to stay put, but if he can just get the right angle... </p><p>Tentatively, he prods at his training bond, testing to see if he’s really lost all command of the Force. The cuffs on his wrists inhibit his connection, but it’s more of a blackout curtain than anything else—he can still sense the Force around him, a light at the fabric’s edges, like a river flowing around a rock. If he can just project past the Force-cuffs...</p><p>He gives it his best shot. It’s tough, though, because the Force shies away from his touch like it’s been burned. Tommy grimaces, sweat beading on his brow as he closes his eyes and tries yet again.</p><p>Finally, he manages it. It’s like something <em> clicks </em> this time within him as his Force signature bursts into light, almost as if an entire box of fireworks had been set off at once. The Force curls lazily around him and soothes his injuries almost at once. His headache ebbs away after a moment, leaving Tommy with a much clearer head.</p><p>Renewed with an odd sense of purpose, he squints at the droid again, focusing on its blaster. There’s still a twinge of pain as the cuffs attempt to suppress his powers, but Tommy has always burned too bright, too quick to be restrained.</p><p>With a flick of Tommy’s wrist, the droid’s blaster goes sailing across the room and lands in the palm of his hand with a satisfying <em> thwap. </em>“Take that, you fucker,” he says with an enormous grin.</p><p>The droid starts, motors whirring as it reacts. “Hey!” it whines in a monotone voice as Tommy curls his finger around the trigger and lands two stunning shots on the droid’s torso. “Not <em> fair…” </em>The droid drags the last word out as it falls to the ground in a pile of scrap metal.</p><p>Tommy breathes a sigh of relief and <em> focuses </em> for the last time, embracing his connection to the Force as he lets power flow through him, down his arms, and into the cuffs on his wrists. They pop open with a <em> crack, </em>rendered useless, and fall to the floor. The Force hums in victory, urging him on.</p><p>Sighing, Tommy rubs his wrists and enjoys the brief rush of freedom. He’s still locked up tight in the middle of a Separatist stronghold, but at least he’s not powerless anymore.</p><p>Right: next is his lightsaber, wherever the bastards have locked it up. He’s not sure where to look first, especially since Wilbur is off Force-knows-where being interrogated, but he thinks that the armory is probably a good place to start.</p><p>Tommy tightens his grip on the blaster and shoots the door control so that the door opens in malfunction, giving him time to slip out into the hallway. It’s pretty much identical to the cell: heavy durasteel walls, torches ensconced every few feet, rough ground that scrapes against his shoes with every step. It’s impossible to be stealthy in a place like this, with nowhere to hide; luckily, Tommy’s never been good at sneaking around. He keeps his new blaster raised and ready as he turns a corner.</p><p>There’s a surprising lack of guards here. Tommy assumes this is the prison—or a brig, holy shit, are they on a Separatist ship right now?—and his heart sinks when he passes multiple guard posts that have been abandoned. Clearly, the droids are preoccupied elsewhere.</p><p>He gets his answer in the form of a loud crash, a sound that comes from somewhere further along the corridor. Tommy grimaces and prepares to hide—he hears the screams of droids, high-pitched and chaotic, and the shriek of metal against metal. It’s as if someone is cutting through them mercilessly with a sharp weapon, breaking the droids into bits that scatter across the floor.</p><p>Tommy swallows thickly and darts in the direction of the commotion. He doesn't have to go far until he catches sight of it. Tommy stops in his tracks instantly, ducking behind a nearby doorframe to avoid being shot at as he eyes the battle in front of him. </p><p>It's a sight to behold. Battle droids are sent flying in every direction, blaster fire scattering across the walls. Tommy thinks this is the electrical department, which would mean Wilbur and Tommy are trapped on a Separatist flagship. Tommy's stomach does a series of flips at the prospect, but he shoves the panic away for the moment. He can't afford to lose his head.</p><p>A man with shockingly pink hair, the strands braided down his back, stands in the middle of the room. Tommy's eyes burn just looking at him—he's not sure what to focus on first, the hair or the glittering gold jewelry. Earrings, bracelets, necklaces—you name it, it's there. The man is incredibly tall, too, towering over the battle droids with ease as he slices through them with that horrible sound again. It takes Tommy a moment to realize that the guy is wielding a sword with incredible finesse, deflecting blaster bolts deftly with the weapon.</p><p>It's incredible. He's never seen anything like this.</p><p>The man twists around as he fights, turning to face the last few droids with a wry grin on his face. There's something almost feral in his red eyes as he lurches forward, stabbing the first droid through the neck and cutting the second one in half. The sword must be enchanted because there is <em>no way </em>a regular weapon could cut through durasteel like that.</p><p>The last of the droids clatters to the ground in a flurry of limbs and a whirring, <em>"Oh, brother." </em>Tommy inhales sharply as a sudden silence comes over the room once again, echoingly loud in his ears.</p><p>The man surveys the carnage once, then twice, seemingly satisfied. He's not even breathing hard. Tommy is left standing in awe, watching the warrior pick up the pieces. However, his awe is shattered when the pink-haired man pulls a familiar weapon from his belt and tests its weight in his palm. The hilt of Tommy's lightsaber, to be precise.</p><p>Tommy sees red before he darts out from behind the doorway and shouts, "Hey! You!"</p><p>The man turns. Crimson-red eyes, hiding behind tiny glasses, pierce Tommy where he stands. He's pinned in place by the stare. "Excuse me?" the man drawls. Tommy's brain races to connect the dots—briefly, he recalls a revered bounty hunter whose name is whispered among the masses with no small amount of awe. A living legend, to boot. <em>The Blade, </em>the posters read, advertising an astronomical bounty. Wanted by the Republic and the Jedi Council for crimes in connection with the Separatists.</p><p>Though, Tommy thinks with a glance around at the wreckage, it seems that Technoblade isn't too chummy with the Separatists right now. He's certainly costing them thousands of credits in repair bills, if anything. The Blade holds Tommy's gaze with those unnatural eyes, his lips curling to reveal sharp incisors.</p><p>"You good, kid?" the man asks.</p><p>"What—" Tommy splutters. "What do you mean, <em>'am I good?' </em>What kind of question is that?! That's<em> my </em>lightsaber!"</p><p>The man eyes the weapon in his grip with newfound interest. "Finders keepers," he says, with no small amount of amusement. <em>Prick.</em></p><p>"Fuck you," Tommy grinds out before he's on his feet, darting in close. He enhances the movement with the Force, moving so fast that any average onlooker wouldn't even register it.</p><p>Technoblade, it seems, is not just an average onlooker.</p><p>He moves incredibly quickly, jerking the weapon away before Tommy can grab it from his hand and taking a quick step back. "Woah, watch it," the guy says, though Tommy thinks he sounds pleased. Amused, maybe.</p><p>Tommy is <em>not </em>amused. "Give that back right now," he huffs, reaching for the saber, "you asshole."</p><p>Technoblade holds it out of his reach, barely on his tiptoes. He's <em>enjoying </em>this, the prick. "I think introductions are in order," he says with a shit-eating grin.</p><p>Tommy makes another desperate grab for the weapon. "Give me my bloody lightsaber," he hisses out between bared teeth, "and then we'll talk about goddamn <em>names, </em>you motherfucker, Jesus Christ—" With a small touch of the Force, he boosts himself off the ground in a jump that seems to catch Technoblade off guard. Tommy grabs the saber and then backs away, cradling his weapon close to his chest.</p><p>The Blade sighs. "I can't believe you just did that," he says, sounding exhausted.</p><p>“Blood for the Blood God, bitch,” Tommy says with a wicked grin as he clips the lightsaber onto his belt. He means for it to be a teasing remark, something to lighten the tension in the air, but Technoblade’s expression hardens at the mention of his infamous moniker.</p><p>“It’s not exactly blood if you’re usin’ a lightsaber,” he drawls, completely serious. Technoblade pulls the sword from its sheath on his back—it screeches, metal on metal, and draws a line of light reflected from Tommy’s own lightsaber. Technoblade’s face is terrifyingly neutral, painted in black and white beyond the blue cast of Tommy’s blade. “Plasma cauterizes the wound right off the bat. Regular old metal does the trick a helluva lot faster if you’re really lookin’ to draw blood.”</p><p>Tommy, feeling horrified yet intrigued all the same, manages, “You know what, I’ll—I’ll just stick to the saber. For now.”</p><p>Technoblade shrugs, nonplussed. “Suit yourself.” The sword goes back in its sheath with another <em> shriek. </em>Tommy resists the urge to grimace at the sharp sound. “So, what're you doing here?"</p><p>"Could ask you the same question," Tommy snaps.</p><p>Technoblade rolls his eyes. "Brat. I assume you’re lookin’ for something?”</p><p><em> “<em>S</em>omeone,” </em>Tommy corrects, and he admits, “My Master.” His hand flies to his empty belt; the missing weight of Wilbur’s lightsaber unsettles him. “He’s—he’s somewhere here. The droids took him away before I escaped.”</p><p>“You’re tellin’ me,” Technoblade drawls, looking amused, “that a <em>Jedi Master </em>managed to get himself knocked out and locked up by a couple o’ <em>battle</em> <em>droids?”  </em></p><p>“Hey! Fuck you,” Tommy says scornfully. “There were a lot of ‘em, okay?”</p><p>Technoblade laughs, a dry sound that reverberates against the durasteel walls on either side of them. “Sounds like you need a little more practice, boy wonder.”</p><p>“Oi, fuck you!” Tommy says again, nearly a screech this time. Technoblade grimaces.</p><p>“Look, kid,” he says. “If I promise to help find this Master of yours, will you stop broadcastin’ our location to just about every battle droid in this goddamn factory?”</p><p>Tommy opens his mouth to yell a little louder, just out of spite, before his brain catches up with the Blade’s words. “You—you’re gonna help me?”</p><p>“Don’t make me regret it,” Technoblade huffs, adjusting his shirt sleeves. “Do you have a name, kid? Or am I just gonna have to keep calling you ‘kid’ from now on?”</p><p>“Don’t call me that!” Tommy yelps, nudging Technoblade with a bony elbow. “I’m sixteen! I’m not a kid.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, kid.”</p><p>“My <em> name,” </em>Tommy says fiercely, “is Tommy.”</p><p>Technoblade's expression goes a little funny at that. His eyebrows do something strange where they press together, and his eyes narrow, just a little, as if he recognizes the name. Tommy waits for him to say something, but Technoblade remains silent for another few moments before he responds. "Tommy," he repeats. "Good to meet ya, kid."</p><p>"And you, as well—hey, can I call you Techno?"</p><p>"No," Technoblade—now dubbed Techno—says immediately.</p><p>Tommy lets his lips curl up into a smirk. "Okay, Techno, what's your deal?"</p><p>Techno's expression shutters. "Did you—did you just not hear me say no, there, or was that a purposeful choice—are you trying to get a rise out of me?"</p><p>"What's your deal?" Tommy repeats, ignoring Techno's protests. "Why's a classy motherfucker like you onboard a Separatist ship?"</p><p>Techno sighs. "Long story," he says, and offers absolutely no further explanation.</p><p>"I've got time," Tommy retorts, just to be a pain.</p><p>"Are you serious? Y'know, why don't I start asking <em>you </em>invasive questions?" Technoblade wonders aloud, as if he doesn't even hear Tommy. The forced silent treatment makes Tommy frown, skin crawling, as Techno adds, "You wanna tell me what the hell two Jedi were doing here? Why you're looking for what's-his-name—"</p><p>"Wilbur," Tommy corrects disdainfully, because if Techno is going to talk about Wilbur like that, he'd better use the man's name, goddamnit.</p><p>But he's not ready for Technoblade's immediate reaction: the other man startles a little bit, as if Tommy had slapped him across the face rather than just say his Master's name. <em> “Wilbur</em><em>?”</em> Technoblade’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, and recognition lights up his expression once again. “Wilbur Soot? <em> The </em>Wilbur Soot? He’s your Master?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Tommy says slowly, scowling.</p><p>“So that means you’re—you’re—” Techno seems to go through the five stages of grief in the space of about six seconds. He stares at Tommy, eyes wide behind those stupid little wire-rimmed glasses. Tommy feels trepidation rise in his throat, cloying and thick. “TommyInnit.”</p><p>And that—that gives Tommy pause. Here he is, left alone and practically defenseless in front of the most feared bounty hunter in the Galaxy, with the Force hanging above them as if it’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. </p><p>“How the hell do you know Will?” Tommy finally asks. It's not the question he wants to ask—there's a strange dread underlying Technoblade's words, something heavy and knowing. He wants to demand an answer from Techno, to spit something like <em>why's it a big deal to you? </em>all at once, but he doesn't.</p><p>Techno blinks. “We—”</p><p>“And how the hell do you know who I am?” Tommy demands, glaring up at the other man as his heart pounds in his chest.</p><p>Instead of answering, Techno shoulders past him roughly. Tommy scrambles to follow, tripping over himself as he trails Technoblade down the hallway. "The grapevine," Techno says finally in response, and it's probably one of the dumbest things Tommy has ever heard.</p><p>"I'm not—"</p><p>"Drop it," Technoblade snaps, and for the first time today there's real <em>danger </em>in his voice. An emotion, underlying the words, that tells Tommy not to ask. "It's a story for another time. I'll tell you later, if you like," he adds, tone softening ever so slightly when he sees the way Tommy deflates.</p><p>So Tommy drops it. "Where are we going?" he says like a kid on a road trip, putting as much petulance into his voice as he can. </p><p>"I thought you wanted your Master back," Techno says without turning his head. He leads them down a couple more hallways, taking a right, then a left, and then another right. He seems to have an intuitive sense of direction, since Tommy has no idea where they are.</p><p>He's not quite sure what to make of the tall, pink-haired bounty hunter. He has no clue why Technoblade is here, for one, or what his deal is. The other man is mysterious and ever so slightly terrifying. However, even though there are Force suppressants flooding through his veins still—fail-safes that are more annoying than anything else—Tommy gets a deep sense of satisfaction from the Force. It curls around him, pressing him tightly into Techno's side, and his heart beats quicker with the <em>rightness </em>of it all.</p><p>
  <em>technobraid</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Brother!Brother!Brother!</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>sadinnit</em> </strong>
</p><p>"'m not sad," Tommy huffs out underneath his breath in irritation, scowling a bit. If the Force ever took on human form, it probably would arch a careful eyebrow at him.</p><p>"About your Master?" Techno asks, and Tommy stiffens a bit. <em>Whoops. </em>He'd spoken aloud on accident. Sometimes, he forgets he isn't alone. "Clearly, he's not in the brig, or else you wouldn't be having this little problem."</p><p>If there's one thing Techno is useful for—besides the whole 'cutting droids down to scrap metal' thing—it's to know exactly where they are. In Tommy's eyes, they are horribly lost; he stumbles after Techno in a blur of hallways, feet unsteady on the durasteel floor. Techno moves ahead with surety, though, his steps ringing even.</p><p>Tommy breaks the silence. "Have you been here before?"</p><p>Techno blinks at him slowly. It reveals nothing. "What makes you say that?"</p><p>"I have no clue where the fuck we are," Tommy grinds out. He pokes Techno sharply with his elbow, and the other man levels him with a decidedly dangerous look. "Don't avoid the question, bitch. Have you been here before or not?"</p><p>There's a beat where Techno closes his eyes, clearly fighting an oncoming headache. "Fine," he sighs. "Yes, I've been here before; no, I will <em> not </em>get you an autograph from the Count, so don't ask."</p><p>"Aw, Techno," Tommy coos, "I would never! I didn't even know you two were on a first-name basis, honestly—"</p><p>The bounty hunter shudders. "Don't remind me." At Tommy's confused look, he adds, "The guy gives me a weird vibe. I swear to God he eats babies or something."</p><p>"What's he like?"</p><p>Techno levels him with a knowing look, cool and appraising at the same time. Tommy flushes a little underneath the scrutiny. "If I tell you, you're just gonna go running to the Jedi Council."</p><p>"I'm not—"</p><p>Techno cuts him off. "The guy might be weird—a little more than weird, actually—but I'm not gonna sell him out like that." There's a fierce loyalty that threads through his tone, and his eyes narrow a little bit. Like Tommy is a threat. Like the guy that's currently committing awful war crimes deserves human decency. "You gotta trust me," he adds, and he actually holds out his hand like he wants Tommy to agree to that.</p><p>The Force stirs at that. <em>trust him, </em>it whispers. <em>trust techno. </em><strong><em>brother </em> . </strong></p><p>And Tommy blinks, because there's only one other man that the Force has ever referred to with such casual affection: Wilbur Soot. He's known Technoblade for all of twenty minutes, but something tells him that this moment is special, a shatterpoint waiting to happen.</p><p>As he breathes in, the world explodes in yellow, light enveloping his vision. Tommy sees the future winding out before him, possibilities unfolding like flowers turning towards the sun. He sees the eventuality where he pushes Techno away, accuses him of working with the Separatists, refuses his help.</p><p>But he also sees the possibility where Tommy takes Techno's hand, where they find Wilbur together, where they come out on top. Where the Force connects them with a bright line, sharp and brilliant and <em> whole. </em></p><p>He <em>sees, </em>and he feels, and when the brightness finally clears, he makes his choice. He takes the hand.</p><p>"Alright," Tommy says, throat dry, caught off guard by the Force's sudden intervention. It hums in amusement at his tone. "Alright, then. Let's go find Wilbur."</p><p>Techno grins at him, then, a dazzlingly bright expression punctuated with sharp incisors. "You're welcome," he drawls.</p><p>"Shut up."</p><hr/><p>The shadowy Count is long gone by the time Tommy and Techno make it to the ship's bridge. Even though they run into a few patrols on the way, the droids are no obstacle for the two of them—Tommy reflects blaster bolts easily while Techno slices through the battle droids with his sword. There's that awful shrieking sound of metal on metal again, piercingly loud, and Tommy grimaces when it cuts through the air.</p><p>"Are you <em> trying  </em>to make me feel sick?!" he demands once the droids lay in scraps at their feet, turning off his lightsaber with a hum. "That sound is fucking awful, big man."</p><p>"'To defeat your enemy, you must first set their teeth on edge,'" Techno tells him solemnly, betraying no hint of laughter as he continues down the hallway. "Sun Tzu, <em>The Art of War." </em></p><p>Tommy thinks that's absolute shit and tells him so. Techno raises an eyebrow; the motion has Tommy barking in sudden uncontrollable laughter, which probably alerts several more patrols to their location, but he can't bring himself to care. </p><p>They descend on the ship's bridge in a flurry of metal and plasma, blades flashing in twin movements. They fight well together—Techno is a blur of motion, rivaling Tommy's speed when he uses the Force to enhance his movements. Surprisingly, there's still no sign of human life. Tommy takes care of two B1s, then a droideka, all in two minutes. Wilbur would be proud.</p><p>"Can you slice into the computers?" Techno calls when he's downed all the battle droids. He rigs the door control so that it locks them inside, despite the clamoring of more droids on the other side. It's probably a terrible idea to close off their only exit, but Tommy doesn't feel like dying a horrible death to blaster bolts.</p><p>"Oi, what kind of question is <em>that?" </em>Tommy complains. "What are you insinuating, big man?" He bites out the syllables all wrong: <em>in-seen-new-ate-ing.  </em>Techno's brows furrow.</p><p>"Can you just—I don't know, not pronounce words correctly?" Techno says, sounding genuinely concerned. "Is that a weakness o' yours? Do you need help?"</p><p>"Fuck you," Tommy says with his usual vehemence, and he scrambles over to the console. There's no heat to the words. "Of course I can slice into the main systems, what do you take me for?"</p><p>"A child."</p><p>"Wrong answer, buddy."</p><p>A quick search of the system reveals that Wilbur is being held captive in the captain's quarters. Several ill-timed jokes come to Tommy's mind at the revelation, but he swallows them down for the moment. He can make all the necessary sex dungeon jokes once they've actually rescued Wilbur if he wants to.</p><p>Tommy and the Technoblade escape the bridge through the ventilation system when the droids start to force the doors open. With a lot of bitching and arguing, the two of them manage to crawl through the vents until they emerge somewhere else on the ship.</p><p>He's caught off guard when the blast doors to the living space slide open. The captain's quarters are impressively large, but Tommy's eyes glide past the opulence and land on Wilbur, suspended in mid-air with his wrists bound by metal cuffs. The containment field hums with electricity as it rotates the Jedi Master, and Wilbur's eyes narrow when he spots Tommy. </p><p>There's a tangible relief in them, though, and the first words out of Will's mouth are "Jesus fucking Christ, Tommy." Tommy lets out a bark of laughter and launches forward to free his Master, fiddling with the containment field's controls until the blue glow dies down and Wilbur can step down onto the ground.</p><p>"Techno?" Wilbur says, sounding like the ground beneath his feet has been shaken. His voice scrapes against his throat in a rasp, eyes dark with an emotion that Tommy can't quite name.</p><p>The Force shies away from Will like a terrified lothcat. Tommy reaches out with his senses, clutching at it as if the Force is a buoy in a raging sea. He's confused—how does his Master know an infamous bounty hunter personally? Why is Wilbur looking at Technoblade as though he's just run him through with that wickedly sharp sword?</p><p>At his side, Techno stiffens.</p><p>"What are you doing here?" Will finally chokes out. It's less of a demand than a plea. "I thought—I thought you were dead."</p><p>Technoblade glances down at himself before he finds Wilbur's gaze once more. "Funny, that," he drawls. "I seem to have a bad habit o' staying alive."</p><p>Wilbur's expression shutters. Tommy feels like he's watching something break irreparably, shattering under a pressure he can only imagine.</p><p>"Fuck you," Wilbur says bitingly, and then he's taking two unsteady steps forward and backhanding Techno across the face. The sharp sound of the slap reverberates throughout the large room; Technoblade lets it happen with no resistance whatsoever.</p><p><em>"Fuck</em> you. You left, he adds, choked-off, like he's pushing the words—so much like sharpened glass—through his throat. "You, and then Phil—"</p><p>"Will, don't," Tommy says, and he steps forward to put a hand on Wilbur's shoulder. His Master brushes off the touch with a rough gesture.</p><p>"Look," Technoblade says with uncharacteristic force, "you can either throw a tantrum here or wait until we're out of here on a stolen ship to do it. Personally, I'd rather <em>not </em>get locked up by Dre—by the Separatists again."</p><p>Wilbur's eye twitches, and he studies the two of them for a moment of awful silence before he nods sharply again. "Fine," he spits, and he starts in the direction of the door. "Tommy. Come on."</p><p>Tommy watches his Master go with a sinking feeling. <em>Something</em> has changed—even though he's not quite sure what. Ignoring Techno's glance, he hurries to follow.</p><hr/><p>There is a gathering Darkness on Coruscant, heavy and cloying, like too-thick treacle. It scratches the back of Tommy's throat, an annoying itch that he can never scratch, like it's waiting for its big finale. The final reckoning—something that might have come sooner, if not for the return of one of the Force's favorite sons. </p><p>Much to Wilbur's chagrin, Techno elects to return to the Temple with them. As soon as their stolen ship lands, the boarding ramp lowers with the grind of machinery and Wilbur is off. Tommy watches his Master go with no small amount of trepidation, brown cloak flying behind him as he turns the corner. It's childish and wholly <em>stupid, </em>but Technoblade's expression still crumples as his gaze trails off.</p><p>Days pass after that first confrontation. When Tommy stands up to defend hm, Technoblade gets a pardon from the Jedi Council—all of whom eye Techno with a vague sense of familiarity. Tommy rages on about <em>bullshit bounties </em>and how <em>techno was more help than <strong>you, </strong>quackity </em>and on and on until it sticks.</p><p>As the Council's spokesman, Dream is the one to stand up and shake Techno's hand, robes flowing around him. "We thank you for your help," he says, voice so low it rumbles against Tommy's chest. Dream glances over at him with barely concealed contempt. "Padawan Innit certainly needed it."</p><p>Techno barks out a dry laugh and exchanges a look with the other man that Tommy can't quite parse. The Force ripples outward, like someone's thrown a rock into a pond. Tommy stiffens a little at the familiarity in Techno's body, the easy way he holds Dream's gaze, like they have years of history stretching out between them.</p><p>"Fuck you, Dream," Tommy cusses, intent on breaking the spell, and it works. Techno shoots him a glare as Tommy bodily drags him out of the Council Chamber, before him and Dream can get too cozy. </p><p>They're in the mess hall later that day when Tommy finally brings up the whole Wilbur situation, with his usual amount of tact—which, is to say, none. “Wilbur’s in a shit mood,” Tommy says pointedly. He stares at Techno, trying to convey that this is <em> Techno's goddamn fault </em>only with his eyes.</p><p>Techno sighs like it physically pains him to be here. He clutches his water bottle a little tighter. It probably does. “Of course he is,” he drawls. “He can’t stand bein’ upstaged like that. From what you told me, he had this whole grand idea of breaking out and comin' to rescue you."</p><p>"Huh."</p><p>Techno's lips curl up a little. "Plus, I think he’s pretty angry at me.”</p><p>Tommy frowns. “Why?”</p><p>“Have you tried askin’ <em> him </em>that?” At Tommy’s shrug, he sighs again. “Figures. You two are so well-matched it makes me sick.”</p><p>Tommy bristles a little. “Are you going to answer my question or not?”</p><p>“I used to be Philza’s Padawan,” Techno says bluntly, like the words cost him nothing. The admission might mean nothing to Techno, but it means <em> everything </em> to Tommy, and he stares at the bounty hunter with wide eyes. “Before Wilbur. That's why the Council was willing to pardon me. I flunked out of the Order, too, so you really don’t wanna be like me—”</p><p>“Phil’s Padawan? You were a Jedi?!” Tommy exclaims, because holy shit! <em> Holy shit. </em>It all makes sense now: the ease with which Techno handles a lightsaber, the way the Force regards him like an old friend, the way he immediately recognized Wilbur’s name. </p><p>Techno winces as if Tommy’s voice is causing him a permanent headache. “Unfortunately.”</p><p>“What do you mean, ‘unfortunately’? The Jedi are awesome!” Tommy defends hotly.</p><p>Techno lets out a long breath. “Not that I’m tryna burst your bubble or anything,” he says, “but there are several major things wrong with the Jedi Order. I’d go into much more detail, but I get the sense that you really aren’t interested.”</p><p>“So Will doesn’t like you because you’re one of those conspiracy theorists?” Tommy asks, savoring Techno’s surprised bark of laughter for later. </p><p>“He’s angry with me for disappearin’ for years without letting him know I was alive,” Techno says, a little too matter-of-factly for Tommy’s comfort. He pushes away from the table in one smooth motion, the chair's legs screeching on the concrete as he gets up to leave. "Go and ask him."</p><p>"Techno," Tommy complains, but Techno is gone in a whirl of pink hair and glasses.</p><p>He sighs and returns his attention to his food.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>shatterpoint theory shatterpoint theory shatterpoint-</p><p>thanks so much for the love guys!! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. episode iii</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The return of a father. The downfall of a son.</p><p>or: Phil makes an appearance. Wilbur stumbles. Dream watches.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>guys im not dead i promise, i'm so sorry this took so long!! &lt;3 thank you so much for your support and patience.</p><p>there isn't really a cw for this chapter except for a headsup that the fic gets a lot darker in tone and topic, so make sure you've read tags and are comfortable with where the story is going.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Coruscanti sky is blue, the sunlight golden, but Tommy feels so undeniably <em> wrong </em> that it's hard to ignore the feeling. The Darkness evades his grasp when he closes his eyes, determined to pinpoint its exact location, but it’s <em> there </em>all the same. It’s there and it’s waiting for a misstep, a stumble. He refuses to give it ammunition.</p><p>There’s a marked shift after Technoblade’s return, but Tommy’s not sure why.</p><p>Maybe it’s driven by Wilbur’s reluctance to face his past. He avoids Techno like the plague and grimaces at any mention of Philza. In the days following their triumphant escape, he makes himself scarce around the Temple. Tommy knows Wilbur’s sneaking out at night, but his attempts to trail his Master are futile. He loses Wilbur on the fifth turn, or maybe the sixth, and has to give it up.</p><p>So Tommy steps up his game. He attempts to confront Wilbur about his misplaced anger like Techno advised him to, but Tommy is doomed from the start. The confrontation ends in vicious words and raised voices and a sudden backhanded blow from his Master that sends Tommy’s head snapping back.</p><p>Tears prick at his eyes and he cowers until he hears the door slam shut behind Wilbur.</p><p>There’s Darkness in the Jedi Temple. <em> There’s Darkness in his Master. </em></p><p>So Tommy spends his time training with Technoblade instead. He avoids his Master like the plague. He learns not to favor his right side, to be lighter on his feet, to wield his blade with deadly efficiency. All the while, the voices wail their complaints.</p><p><em> findhimhelphimfindhim </em> <b> <em>imposter</em> </b></p><p>
  <em> wilbur sus </em>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>dirty crime boys!</em> </b>
</p><p>He curses under his breath, thinks furiously, <em> shut up!!!!, </em> and refocuses on the fight.</p><p>After a week or so of training, Techno even lets Tommy hold his sword. He admires the sleek weapon, gazes at the jewels encrusted in the handle, and stares at his reflection in the metal. It’s a deadly thing. Tommy clutches it between cold fingers and tries not to think about how many men and women have died to this blade.</p><p>Slowly but surely, he improves. Slowly but surely, Wilbur drifts away.</p><p>The rift opening up between them is hard to bear, but Tommy takes Techno’s words to heart. He thinks about what it must have been like for Wilbur to see <em> his brother </em> his friend so suddenly. Back from the dead or whatever. </p><p>But Wilbur’s Force signature burns bright and fast and <em> angry </em>until he closes himself off from Tommy completely, and Tommy desperately tries to understand.</p><p>(Still, his cheek burns where Wilbur had slapped him. Still, Tommy flinches away when the figure of his Master stalks through Temple hallways. Still, he tries not to notice when Wilbur chooses dark robes with elaborate stitching on the hem. Still, he searches for solace in the company of Techno and Tubbo.)</p><p>It’s fine. He’s fine.</p><p>
  <em> (He’s not.) </em>
</p><hr/><p>There is a Darkness in the Temple, but it cowers at the sight of the Angel of Death. It trembles, tucks itself into nooks and crannies alike, hides desperately from the Light’s gaze. It remains cowed. </p><p><em> (For now. </em> The reckoning is coming; it has only been delayed slightly.)</p><p>When Philza returns in a blaze of righteous glory, Tommy is barely seventeen. </p><p>This is the beginning of the end.</p><p>It’s a momentous occasion. The Temple is set alight with celebration, and the Force sings in Tommy’s ear, oh-so-pleased at the return of one of its favorites. The Jedi laugh and cheer and punch Phil lightly in the shoulder, listening to his tales of bravery and valor. It takes Tommy a while to push his way to the front of the crowd, especially without Wilbur’s usual height to back him up, but his eyes catch on Philza almost immediately.</p><p>He balks.</p><p>Phil looks worse for wear. There’s an awful-looking scar that splits his face into two—trailing its ugly fingers across pale skin. His blond hair is long and shaggy; it needs a cut. His tunic is ripped and his hands are wrapped in bandages and an emerald hangs from one ear, completely unbecoming of a Jedi Master.</p><p>Tommy thinks he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.</p><p>Philza finds his gaze, and then he’s letting out a cry and rushing forward. Tommy lets himself be scooped up in Phil’s embrace—they’re both crying, he registers faintly—and he clings to his grandmaster with childlike desperation. The Jedi around them grumble a little at the emotional display, but they allow space for the two men.</p><p>“Phil,” Tommy breathes into the man’s tunic, hiccuping gently. He puts all of his hurt, his shame, his anger, his confusion into that one word. <em> “Phil.” </em></p><p>“I’m here, mate,” says the former Grandmaster of the Jedi Order. He grins down at Tommy, a blindingly sharp smile that’s missing a few teeth. It’s surprisingly soft. “I’m here.”</p><p>So Tommy relaxes into his embrace, closes his eyes, and pretends that everything is okay. For a moment, at least—a moment that hangs interminable above them—he can imagine that nothing is wrong. That Wilbur is the same happy-go-lucky man he’d met all those years ago. That Techno doesn’t flinch at the sight of a lightsaber. That Tubbo hasn’t been sent on one dangerous mission after another, with or without his Master.</p><p>The Force rumbles, and Phil clutches him tighter.</p><p>When Technoblade sees Phil after years spent apart, he seems to go through the five stages of grief all at once. Tommy stands behind him, watching as Techno struggles to say something, anything, then finally settles on: “It’s been a while, old man.”</p><p>“It has,” Phil says, and he sets a hand on Techno’s shoulder. The mercenary looks up at Phil with blatant adoration in his eyes, his cheeks dusted a light pink before Phil’s wheezing laughter resounds throughout the training salles. “You’re not looking too young yourself, though, mate.”</p><p>Techno digs his elbow into Phil’s ribs and their laughter mixes together, rises into the air and escapes into the Coruscanti night. Tommy watches from the shadows, feeling so inherently pleased he thinks he might burst.</p><p>Two down, one to go.</p><p>But when Wilbur sees Phil for the first time in three years, his reaction is nothing like the others. It’s angry and vicious and <em> hurt, </em>and the Force settles around the two men like a hissing basket of snakes. Tommy stands outside their quarters with an ear pressed to the door, just barely able to make out the words that are thrown like flying projectiles.</p><p>“—would fuck off, just like that—”</p><p>“—act like I had any choice in the matter—”</p><p>“—three years, Phil! Three fucking years—” </p><p>“—not my fault—”  </p><p>“—you know what Tommy is, and you expect me to be <em> okay </em>?!”</p><p>He flinches when his name resounds through the air. Wilbur spits the word like a curse, ugly and demeaning, and it makes something shudder down Tommy’s spine. The Force rears its head like a spooked horse; he mutters something soothing underneath his breath, presses forward until his feverish forehead rests against the door. </p><p>Phil’s next words rumble through Tommy’s chest, louder and more intense. “You’re his Master, Will,” he says.</p><p>Will’s response is like nails scraping their way down a wall. “And you were mine.”</p><p>There’s a breath, a pause, an eternity. Tommy’s sure he hears Phil’s inhale, sharp and shocked, and he can’t take it anymore. He presses forwards and opens the door with a touch of the Force.</p><p>Phil and Wilbur stare at him. He gives them a lopsided, humorless sort of smile before he stumbles forward into the quarters. His legs are unsteady and his heart pounds in his chest, <em> boom-boom-boom. </em>Too much, too fast.</p><p>“Heard my name,” Tommy says nonchalantly, hiding a lifetime of care and hurt behind those three words.</p><p>Phil makes an aborted movement towards him. “Tommy—”</p><p>“Phil, <em>stop,</em>” Wilbur hisses between clenched teeth. He throws his head back so hard that his jaw chatters, staring at the ceiling with reckless anger. “Tommy, the door was locked for a reason.”</p><p>“I used the Force.”</p><p>Wilbur shoots Phil a glance—an expression that says <em> look, old man, look and see what i mean. </em>It makes Tommy bristle.</p><p>“What?” he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest and straightening to his full height. He has nothing on Wilbur—the other man is freakishly tall—but he meets Phil’s eyes directly. “What are you not telling me? I heard my name, yanno, and you said that I’m—I’m fucking <em> something, </em>are you insane, that’s so fucking rude—”</p><p>“Tommy,” Phil says desperately. </p><p>“You’re the Chosen One,” Wilbur growls, breaking the tension with skillful abandon. He sounds like he’ll shatter if Tommy applies too much pressure, like a particularly beautiful vase. “That’s the truth, okay? Are you happy now?”</p><p>Tommy can’t answer. He stares at his Master, his chest rising hard and fast, as sixteen years of Force sensitivity comes into focus. What’s Wilbur saying? That the dumb Jedi prophecy is <em> real? </em> And not only that it’s real, but that it’s talking about him. <em> Tommy. </em></p><p>It makes perfect, horrible sense; it explains why Tommy has always felt so much <em> more </em>than the Jedi surrounding him. Why he hears the Force’s voice, for fuck’s sake—he’s fated to be set apart. The voices curl around him with lazy victory at the revelation.</p><p><b> <em>choseninnit!! </em> </b> <em> main character moment </em> <b> <em>brotherbrotherbrother </em> </b> <em> you are </em> <em> chosen </em></p><p>“The Chosen One?” he repeats, looking between Wilbur and Phil once, then twice, then three times. Their faces are honest, twisted in pain. “I’m—you can’t be serious.”</p><p>“You’re the Chosen One,” Wilbur says vindictively, like it’s a bad thing, and he <em> glares </em>at Tommy. The words slice through skin and bone and muscle; Tommy flinches; Phil huffs out a small breath.</p><p>“Mate—”</p><p>“Don’t follow me,” he hisses out, and then he’s fleeing the room with light feet and a lightsaber in his hand. The door bangs shut behind him.</p><hr/><p>There is a Darkness in the Temple, and Wilbur is its source.</p><p>Tommy doesn't know how he didn't realize it sooner. There's a moment, the day before it happens—the day before everything goes tits-up, before his world is shattered before his eyes—when he tentatively agrees to spar with his Master in one of the training salles. He’s seventeen; the Galaxy is his oyster and Wilbur is the only thing standing in his way.</p><p>Ever since the whole Chosen One revelation, Wilbur has kept Tommy at a careful arm’s length, They haven’t done this sort of thing for weeks, months, <em> years. </em>Not since Techno returned to the Temple with them. Not since Phil returned in a self-righteous blaze of glory that had Wilbur’s fists clenching at his sides. Not since Tubbo was sent to the Outer Rim on a suicide mission.</p><p>Tommy feels pretty brittle right now, like clay pottery. The smallest amount of pressure and he’ll shatter into a million pieces, helpless and fragile and <em> broken </em>.</p><p>Dream sits on the sidelines, watching them fight. He’s always watching these days, staring out from behind that creepy mask of his. Tommy tries not to feel like prey as he works himself harder than usual, throwing himself against Wilbur’s defenses like they’re paper and he’s a particularly vicious pair of scissors.</p><p>When Will stumbles back a step, fierce victory thrums through Tommy's veins. It's addictive. Throwing himself headlong into battles is Tommy's drug of choice these days, more effective than spice or death sticks.</p><p>He tries to keep up their usual banter, throwing in a few flips just for the hell of it, and lets the familiar moves of Djem So guide him into a flawless attack. It doesn’t work; Wilbur just scoffs, bats away all of Tommy's attempts to get closer like he's an annoying insect.</p><p>This nonchalance just pisses Tommy off more. He uses the Force to enhance his next blow—it chants <em>watchoutwatchout</em><b><em>watchout</em></b>—so that Wilbur is forced to dart backward in order to avoid getting his hand sliced clean off.</p><p>Something changes, then. Wilbur’s expression shifts, his eyes flashing a few shades lighter—almost gold, Tommy realizes later—and his moves become heavier like they're being weighed down with something. He switches forms so abruptly that Tommy almost misses it, from a familiar Soresu to something that makes Tommy's eyes widen. It takes him a few seconds to place the vicious movements, but when he does, his heart skips a beat.</p><p>Vaapad.</p><p>Because—because Wilbur shouldn't be using Vaapad. Phil <em> banned </em> Wilbur from using Vaapad, all those years ago, in a conversation that threatened to blow up the Temple with explosive anger. Will might be furious with Phil for fucking off to who-knows-where for the past three years, but he's never openly disrespected Philza's mandate. Not up until now.</p><p>
  <em> "You're too unstable, mate. Too in touch with your emotions." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A snort. Wilbur, clenching his fists. "Just because I believe in therapy doesn't mean I can't learn Vaapad." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "It’s not about believing in therapy,” another Master put in. "You’re reckless—" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "—emotional—" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "—far too foolhardy, what if something happens?” </em>
</p><p>This, Tommy thinks, is what Phil had been talking about. What he had been warning Wilbur against. With his sudden shift in form, Wilbur finds himself swathed in Darkness; he does his best to siphon it off, using the excess energy to enhance his blows. There’s something cold and calculating about the way he cuts his saber towards Tommy now.</p><p>Their lightsabers move together in a clash of will, a beautiful yet deadly dance. Tommy is so in tune with the Force that he can sense the exact moment that something changes. Wilbur's eyes grow dark, and the Force grows even heavier. </p><p>Tommy is fighting to <em> survive </em>now, and he gasps when Wilbur grazes his leg, leaving a hint of heat and a scorch mark behind, and he feels, rather than sees, Dream stand up with a flourish of robes, both hands outstretched.</p><p>Tommy’s and Wilbur’s lightsabers go flying out of their hands with no preamble. There’s a <em> thud </em>as both weapons hit Dream’s palms, and the Master glares at both of them across the room.</p><p>The moment hangs between them, uninterrupted and interminable, and Tommy could <em> swear </em>he sees something unspoken pass between the other two Jedi. He’s breathing hard, staring at his Master in awe—or is it horror? He's too caught up in the roar of blood in his ears to tell.</p><p>The Force shifts, like it has something it wants to say. Tommy listens intently, but he's only met with silence. <em> Later, </em> the voice promises finally. <em> Later. </em></p><p>"Are you <em> insane?!" </em>Dream exclaims, eyes narrowing and all composure gone. He looks rather imposing like this, dressed in his usual dark green robes. He towers over both of them, still holding the weapons in his hands. "Are you fucking insane? Wilbur—"</p><p>"Dream," Will murmurs, letting out a long breath as he gazes at Tommy. He sounds like he's had the wind knocked out of him. He takes a step towards his Padawan, hand outstretched, but Tommy flinches back violently. His leg aches something fierce.</p><p>"Wilbur," he manages, pushing the words out through a dry throat. Belatedly, he realizes that he's furious; real, cold anger lies underneath his tone. "Wilbur, what… what the <em> fuck </em> was that?"</p><p>"Tommy—"</p><p><em> "No!" </em> he shouts, surprising even himself with his vehemence. "No, what the fuck did you just do?! You're not—Phil said <em> — </em> how did you even <em> learn </em> — <em> " </em></p><p>Sounding extremely tired, Wilbur says, "I've been doing some extra studying." Nonchalant. As if he <em> hadn't </em>just drawn on the Dark Side in front of Tommy.</p><p>"Wilbur," Dream says again, and Wilbur's attention is jerked back to the man in green. There's something oddly final in Dream's voice when he says, "You know what this means." Like it's an order. Like Wilbur has no choice but to obey.</p><p>Tommy thinks Wilbur's going to protest, but his Master only inclines his head in a wordless answer.</p><p>"What—what's going on?" Tommy demands. He backs up another step as Dream and Wilbur come to a silent agreement, gazes locked. "What's fucking… Dream?"</p><p>"The Council wants you," Dream tells Wilbur, ignoring Tommy's questions completely. "It's time."</p><p>Will sighs, shoulders tensing. "When?"</p><p>"As soon as possible," Dream tells him. His mouth curls up in a humorless grin. "Eret said something about an assassin?"</p><p>Their gazes lock for the third time. Tommy feels like an intruder; he has the sudden feeling that he's missing something huge here. It's staring him right in the face, oh-so-obvious, but he can’t for the life of him figure out <em> what. </em></p><p>"Oi," he says furiously, pulling himself together enough to storm over to Dream and snatch his lightsaber from the other man's hand. Dream recoils a little, staring down at the Padawan. "I don't know what the fuck's going on here, but you owe me an explanation! Why was Wilbur using—using Vaapad? And you said 'it's time'... time for what, exactly?"</p><p>Dream doesn't say anything. He just <em> smiles, </em>pleased and slow, and Tommy feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. He watches as Wilbur steps forward suddenly, taking Dream's hand firmly in his own. </p><p>"Dream, I want to be your vassal."</p><p>Again, there's that silent communication, and Dream nods decisively. "Things will come clear soon, kid," Dream tells Tommy, still staring down at Wilbur.</p><p>"I'm not a child!" Tommy complains, more out of habit than anything else, but the words fall on deaf ears as the other two Jedi stare at each other.</p><p>"I'll see you later, Tommy," Will says to his Padawan. Tommy feels like his Master is a dying supernova, drawing him closer despite the heat. "Don't wait up."</p><p>He watches his Master go in silence, hand-in-hand with Dream, and feels oddly horrified.</p><p>But when the next day dawns, it dawns bright, with no traces of Darkness to be found. Sun streams in through Tommy's windows as he stretches lazily. Later, he wishes that he'd taken advantage of the warm light, of the hazy memory, of the laughter.</p><p>Breakfast passes in a whirl of conversation. Between peals of laughter, Tubbo tries to convince Tommy that Senator NotFound is secretly the head of the Temple Guards. Tommy thinks that’s complete and utter shit and tells Tubbo so.</p><p>Will’s voice breaks his focus, shattering any normalcy that he'd regained. “Tommy!”</p><p>Tommy jumps a mile. “Yeah?” he asks, craning his neck to see his Master. He hopes his hesitance isn’t audible; he keeps a careful distance from his Master, his neck craned up to see something like regret on Wilbur’s face.</p><p>“I’m going out,” Wilbur says. He levels Tommy with a hard look. “Behave.”</p><p>Tommy rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Whatever you say, Master,” he says.</p><p>But he’s only one man, and he can’t quite resist the temptation of knowledge. So he does what he does best: he follows Wilbur.</p><p>His Master leads Tommy on a wild goose chase through the streets of Coruscant. Tommy, breathing hard from exertion, has to struggle in order to keep up with his Master. He makes sure to keep at least one block back, staying out of Will’s line of sight as best as he can.</p><p>If there’s one thing Tommy’s got experience with, it’s following someone who doesn’t want to be tailed. Besides, it’s much easier to follow his Master in broad daylight, rays peeking through the gaps between buildings. At night, Tommy tends to get confused and lost in the vast Coruscanti underworld. </p><p>Wilbur doesn’t see him, thankfully, but he’s clearly suspicious. He switches directions four times, constantly checking over his shoulder for a tail. Tommy boards two transits in his wake, shoves his way through the edges of a thick crowd, and continually ducks behind doorways when Will’s head snaps back to scan the street behind him.</p><p>Tommy won’t lie: it’s suspicious. It’s too fucking suspicious to be anything not nefarious. There’s only a few possible explanations for why Wilbur is sneaking around Coruscant like this, and none of them are good. </p><p>The Force remains silent, much to Tommy’s annoyance. If there’s ever a time that an objective voice would help, it’s now.</p><p>The trail finally leads him to an abandoned warehouse in the industrial sector. Tommy watches Will enter from behind a nearby dumpster. He silently counts to three hundred before he emerges from his hiding place and slips through the side door after his Master.</p><p>Darkness overwhelms Tommy’s senses as soon as he steps into the warehouse. Even with his Force-enhanced eyesight, Tommy can barely see a thing when the door closes after him. The Force curls around him in trepidation, almost chokingly thick, as he crouches and begins to feel his way around the edges of the open space. </p><p>Tommy stumbles up a series of steps, bites back a curse, and finally settles himself into a small niche in the wall up above. As his eyes adjust to the dim light, he can just about make out the room’s features.</p><p>He’s stood on a wrap-around balcony that stretches high above the warehouse’s open floor. There are crates piled against the walls below him, dusty and unused, and a space has been cleared out in the middle of the floor below him, almost like an arena.</p><p>Tommy stifles a gasp when two figures come into view. Their faces are hard to make out in the darkness, but he can tell that one of them is definitely Wilbur—there’s no mistaking the dark robes and ever-present beanie. Will’s face looks pale in the small amount of light let in by a tiny skylight above them. As for the other figure… Tommy’s not quite sure what to make of them.</p><p>Their voices gradually filter up to him, echoing throughout the large room. Tommy listens carefully, just as Wilbur says, “Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”</p><p>“You’re late,” says the other man, and Tommy has to stifle a gasp as the pieces fit into place in his mind. There’s only one person whose voice hangs low like that, arrogant and oh-so-sure of himself.</p><p>“Dream, for fuck’s sake—”</p><p>“I told you,” Dream bites out, unflinching, “that this operation is <em> time-sensitive. </em>The Jedi—”</p><p>“Aren’t going to know what’s hit them, yeah, yeah,” Wilbur says. Tommy’s still reeling from the revelation that <em> Dream </em>is here, in all his glory, so he almost misses it when Will says, “You know who to spare, right?”</p><p>A beat. Then: “You’re going soft, Wilbur.”</p><p>Will tenses, so vividly that Tommy can sense it in the Force as it ripples around them. The line across his shoulders goes taught. “You promised that Tommy wouldn’t get hurt.”</p><p>Up above, Tommy flinches.</p><p>“I never said I was an honest man.” Dream sounds more amused than anything else, watching Wilbur closely. </p><p>“You <em> promised </em>—”</p><p>“I say a lot of things, Wilbur.” Dream tilts his head as he takes a step closer to Tommy’s Master, and the temperature in the room drops at least ten degrees. “You seem reluctant. Quite frankly, I’m sick of this.”</p><p>Will stumbles back a step. Dream follows. “Dream—”</p><p>“You’re either in,” Dream says, voice hard, “or you’re out. Nobody likes a traitor, Will.”</p><p>“Are you really trying to threaten me?” Wilbur says, ire dancing across his tongue. He raises his chin, meets Dream’s gaze. Tommy has the feeling that he’s intruding on something extremely private here. “It’s not going to work. You want to talk about Tommy, Dream? What would <em> George </em> think, if he knew you were planning to blow up—”</p><p>Dream moves so fast that Tommy hardly sees him until he’s got Wilbur pinned against the wall, an arm across his throat. <em> “Don’t,” </em>he hisses, “talk about George.”</p><p>“Aw, Dream,” Wilbur says, wearing a Cheshire grin that gives Tommy a strange sense of déja vû. He thinks he’s seen this before, in a dream, in a vision that ended in screams and blood and <em> pain. </em>In red and blue lightsabers, crashing together again and again. “I didn’t know you cared so much.”</p><p>“I don’t.” Dream takes a few deep breaths, composing himself before he drops his forearm from Wilbur’s throat. The two men stand there, motionless, staring each other down. </p><p>Tommy feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop as he crouches far above them. He quickly checks that he’s properly hidden here, tucks his Force signature away as best as he can, folding it away into the very corners of his soul. They shouldn’t be able to sense him now.</p><p>“If you’re really going to do this,” Dream says, voice quiet and measured, “then I want you to prove it. <em> Prove it to me, </em>Wilbur.”</p><p>Their gazes lock. The moment hangs there, interminable, a rock held still above a pool of water. The Force is silent, anxious, <em> waiting </em> for the splash <em> . </em>Will’s eyes flick directly to Tommy’s hiding space as time begins to speed up again, so that Tommy sees the exact moment when Wilbur decides to stop fighting the Darkness.</p><p>His Master’s knees hit the durasteel floor with a <em> crack, </em>clearly painful, covering the way Tommy gasps. Dream’s eyes gleam with victory as he towers over Wilbur.</p><p>He’s terrified. There’s only one explanation for this. Tommy <em> knows, </em>deep in his gut, what’s going on here. He knows why Wilbur is kneeling on the dirty durasteel floor, why Dream is looking at him like he wants to eat Will raw.</p><p>“I…” Wilbur trails off, voice trembling. “Dream—”</p><p>“Say it,” Dream demands. Tommy shivers, unable to pull his eyes away. “Say it, Wilbur.”</p><p>Wilbur’s voice cracks when he forces the words out. “Dream, I—I <em> pledge </em>myself to you. My… My Master.” He doesn’t sound happy about it; Wilbur’s eyes dart back and forth across the warehouse, before glancing straight up at Tommy’s hiding space.</p><p><em> He knows I’m here, </em> Tommy thinks. Horror takes root in his chest, thick and cloying. He wants to throw up. <em> He knows I’m here. </em></p><p>Yet Will is still on his knees, still throwing himself into the Darkness recklessly. Tommy’s presence isn’t enough to save him; the thought of it makes him bite down a noise of pain.</p><p>
  <em> What about Phil? </em>
</p><p>Dream cocks an eyebrow down at Will. “And?”</p><p>“Teach me the ways of the Dark Side,” Wilbur breathes, staring up at Dream. <em> “Master </em>.”</p><p>And Tommy finally snaps. He leans too far backward, falls roughly onto his palms, which sends a rough <em> thud </em>echoing throughout the warehouse. Dream’s head snaps up to where Tommy is hiding, eyes flashing with surprise.</p><p>“Who’s there?” he demands, hand moving to his belt.</p><p>Tommy doesn’t care. He just has to get <em> out </em>of here, away from the stifling press of the Dark Side, away from Dream’s knowing smile, away from his kneeling Master. He scrabbles away from the edge, pulling himself to his feet and grabbing his saber from his belt. Even though he’s doomed, his instincts drive him to make a mad dash for the door.</p><p>But Dream catches him before he can reach the exit, throwing him back into the center of the room with far more strength than necessary. Tommy lets out a soft <em> oof </em>when he hits the ground, rolling over onto his back with a groan. The motion loosens his cloak, and he feels Dream freeze when the other man catches sight of Tommy’s face. </p><p>“Hey, Big D,” Tommy says weakly, hyper aware of the fact that he’s on the floor and Dream is still wielding a lightsaber. “Fancy seeing you here.”</p><p>“You said you weren’t followed,” Dream says to Will, who is staring past him at Tommy. Tommy meets his Master’s gaze unflinchingly, daring him to say something. He feels like his insides have been shaken up.</p><p>“I… I thought I wasn’t,” Wilbur says, staring at Tommy, and his voice is so damn calm that it makes Tommy want to hit something. He wants the sharp pain of skin on stone, and it’s with that thought that the dam breaks. </p><p>“What the fuck, Will?!” Tommy exclaims, pulling himself up so that he’s sitting on the floor. He’d stand up, but Dream has the tip of his lightsaber at Tommy’s throat in an instant, expression calculating, so the best he can manage is kneeling. “Why would you—how could you?! How <em> could </em>you?!” </p><p>Tears prick at his eyes, and he swallows thickly. Tommy clutches at his robes with a shiver, looking up at his Master, his friend<em> , </em> his <em> brother </em>. He doesn't like the look in Will's eyes. "Wilbur?" he asks, voice quiet. This is the smallest he's ever felt, kneeling at Wilbur's feet, just like his Master had earlier before Dream. </p><p>There's no response. After a moment, Will straightens up to his full height, still clutching the lightsaber to his chest. There's a strange sort of crazed light in his eyes—he looks like a spring, coiled and tense and ready to unfold at any moment. </p><p>Dream’s grin splits his face as he watches Wilbur from behind, ever the puppetmaster. “Make your choice, Wilbur,” he says. The voice curls around Tommy like smoke, thick and cloying and overwhelming. He wants to cry. He wants to scream.</p><p><em> traitor?!? </em> Screams the Force. <b> <em>not wilbur</em> </b> <em> dirty crime boys </em> <b> <em>brothersbrothersbrothers— </em> </b></p><p>“Shut up,” Tommy hisses between clenched teeth. The Force ceases its constant chanting, and he raises his gaze to meet Wilbur’s eyes. They’re connected intrinsically for a moment, an eternity, before Wilbur’s face hardens.</p><p>His entire body shifts, like he’s metamorphosing into something Tommy has never seen before. His shoulders loosen, losing their tension, and his face twists into a snarl. Tommy lets out a choked off sound at Will’s eyes—<em> Will’s eyes, holy shit— </em>which burn a glowing gold in the other man’s face. It’s like the embers of twin fires; Tommy can feel their warmth from here, a horrible, unnatural thing.</p><p>Dream makes a sound in his throat that makes Tommy want to move, to <em> pounce. </em>His skin is horribly itchy, like there’s an army of insects crawling all over him. He shudders, batting away the shadows that threaten to consume him.</p><p>There’s something desperate and ragged in Tommy’s voice when he manages, “Will—”</p><p>“I’ve made my choice,” Wilbur snarls. The Force shifts around them in an instant—something dark, something thick and toxic—and it laps at Tommy’s ankles as his Master stalks forward. </p><p>Tommy kneels in the middle of the blackness, staring up at his master, his brother, his <em> friend </em> who is wreathed in shadow. Even now, Wilbur is the most powerful thing Tommy’s ever seen: the Force leaps at his command, pooling at his fingertips. Tommy can hear the voices of Jedi and Sith long dead rising in a cacophony of noise, and he swallows thickly. His Adam’s apple bobs.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Tommy,” Wilbur says, and the world goes dizzyingly black.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for the support!! if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment - it's free and your feedback really motivates me to write !! &lt;33</p><p>you can find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/greyquills">twitter</a>.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i actually didn't realize this while writing, but i kind of made the force's inner monologue to tommy really similar to techno's canon "voices," so...... whoo p s. that was not intentional lol.</p><p>if you wanna maybe,,,,, leave kudos?? or a comment?? that would be pretty pogchamp.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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